


Eight Days

by AudibleEllipsis



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Female My Unit | Byleth, Post C-Supports, Pre-Time Skip, The Gender Really Isn't Important
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:04:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20316733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudibleEllipsis/pseuds/AudibleEllipsis
Summary: Byleth is something of a stranger to the games of nobles, but one thing is clear. These students are, first and foremost, young adults in dire need of guidance. She’s a poor fit to give any, but so long as she treats it like any other job, it can’t endtoopoorly... Right?A chapter per student, and then one more. Takes place after Chapter 2.





	1. Ferdinand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was captivated by the writing in this game, and though I haven't finished it myself, I felt a powerful need to write something. I'm very happy with this concept, and hope you'll enjoy it as well. Please, no spoilers in the comments.

Life has never been stable for you.

As a mercenary, you worked day to day, job to job, doing whatever Jeralt said was the right thing. Sometimes that meant staying in villages for weeks at a time, routing bandits and helping with repairs. Others, it just meant going hungry. When possible, Jeralt always gave you his portion under the pretense that you were still growing, and so needed it more.

Guilt over that and more colored your every decision at the time. Contentedness was made to be a stranger, forced away until all that remained in your eyes was quiet desperation so thinly veiled by solemn words and steadfast behavior. The day that you could effectively wield a blade couldn’t come soon enough, but until then, everything that made you a burden was pushed down. Perhaps as a result, even now you still find it hard to summon more than a handful of words and small expressions on any given day.

The games of nobles are new to you, but it hasn’t taken long to understand that these students are, first and foremost, young adults in dire need of guidance. Some are self-accomplished, self-driven, like Ferdinand and Caspar, but each and every one of them holds a great burden, and many are holding out for answers. You’re a poor fit to give any, but so long as you treat this position like any other job, you can’t see it going poorly. The things people need to hear have a way of leaving your lips, and all else stays within.

The weight of the responsibility rests easily upon your shoulders, but it’s still enough to make you wonder if it’s this exact sensation that made your father want to leave this place. His words seemed to imply that he left because of you, but it seems strange to want to raise a child without constant roof or food. The Archbishop’s calculated passions make it clear that there’s more to this story than you know, but whatever the case may be, you feel no need to question him. He’s a caring man, and a kind father. It wouldn't do to start doubting him now.

Cutting a path across the Monastery, the warmth present in each and every greeting that comes your way still feels surprisingly substantial. It’s strange, the way your curt nods and small replies seem just as meaningful to the people here as any grandstanding speeches might. Jeralt’s warnings imply that one day you’ll have to be prepared to leave again, but for a time, the daily meals and clean bedding will make for a pleasant life.

The beating sun above is a constant reminder that there is work to be done, but still you feel the need to pause before entering the gardens. Ferdinand has invited you to tea, and it wouldn’t do to say something foolish to such a capable conversationalist. The purpose of the meeting is unknown, but you suspect it has something to do with his performance in the last mission. For many of those students, it was their first time seeing real combat, and their first time taking life.

Regardless of how Sothis feels on the matter, you feel no guilt over introducing them to conflict. Death and war are vital parts of the way the world works, and you’ve done well to learn how not to feel remorse over your own killings. Edelgard seems to already understand this aspect, but holds a higher regard for life in general than you do. Because of this, you have faith that she will one day make a fine ruler. Ferdinand, however...

_“These ruffians are no match for a noble like me!”_

The young man comes from a long line of esteemed nobility, that much is not in question. However, the sense of importance he ascribes to this fact leaves you concerned for his future. If he cannot learn to reign in his pride, he will surely meet a premature end, be it to beast, bandit, or competitor. This, you cannot allow.

Thoughts in order, you finally feel prepared to enter.

The meeting area beneath the stone gazebo is empty, save for the ginger noble, a fine tea set, and an assortment of sweets layered in a tiered dish. 

“Professor.” His volume is carefully mediated, as are his mannerisms. With a small gesture of his hand, he invites you to sit, and you do. “I’m honored that you could take time out of your schedule to meet with me. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

You nod.

“As much as I would enjoy a chance to hold conversation with you, I understand that you are busy, and will not take too much of your time.” His brow furrows. “I wished to have your perspective, away from the presence of others, on my performance in comparison to the others’ in our recent excursion.”

“I plan to discuss everyone’s performance in the next lecture.”

“And yet, it would do me great service to know now.” He leans forward. “The sooner I am capable of fixing any mistakes, the better I will perform in the next battle.”

You blink. “Is this about Edelgard?”

He pauses, but only briefly. “... Yes.”

You offer no comment, but reach out for your tea cup, and take a long sip. 

It doesn’t take Ferdinand long to regain his composure, but it takes long enough for you to appreciate the presence of mint within the tea. A few days ago you had to come up with a favorite flavor in a ‘conversation’ between him and Lorenz, but it seems he really was listening.

“While my performance in relation to Edelgard’s is of great concern to me, it is also true that I wish to remain an exemplary figure in the eyes of _all_ my peers. To be lacking in any aspect is to do a disservice to my nobility.”

Your eyes drift from a particularly good looking scone to the noble. The way your eyes look past him is clearly agitating, but the promise of a response is enough to keep him in check. “You want to know why I believe Edelgard is a better student?”

“It would please me greatly.” His gaze intensifies.

You nod, and take another long sip. “First, tell me what you believe it is that defines the distance between you and her.”

“The distance?” He frowns, but the determination doesn’t leave his eyes. “Her single-mindedness. Edelgard focuses on nothing but the path in front of her, and if it isn’t to the shape she desires, she will force it to be.”

“Good. Now between you and Caspar.”

Now his frown is serious. “I believe myself to be his better, in terms of acting as a noble should, as well as on the battlefield. He is not without his strengths, nor honor, but surely you are not implying that he is more talented than I?”

You do not answer. “Bernadetta.”

“Benadetta?!” His eyes narrow, much in the way they once did when he’d first asked of your opinion on Edelgard. “She is a recluse, and insists upon maintaining an unhealthy lifestyle. Though I am aware you see it fit to place her upon the battlefield, I cannot pretend to have a great deal of faith in her ability to act under pressure. Please, Professor, if this line of questioning is in jest, I must insist that you stop now. I will not take such a sleight against my honor lightly.”

“Then that is difference between you and Edelgard.”

“Excuse me?” His anger gives way to confusion. 

You set your tea down, and stare into the reflection. “Edelgard is not upset by comparisons. Her scale is greater, and she is capable of looking at information far more objectively. Where you see only Bernadetta’s reclusive nature, Edelgard sees her capability to remain hidden, and how that, alongside her precision, might best be used. Where you see the features Caspar shares with you, and find him lacking, Edelgard sees another uniquely capable person. His sense of nobility does not concern her, only his actions.” You let the words sit a moment, giving Ferdinand the chance to find whatever expression he sees fit. “You are correct. It is her single-minded drive which separates you.”

When you look up, you look at, not past, Ferdinand. His eyes are unreadable, but the lines of his face show concern. His tone is solemn, and he’s only able to meet your gaze for a short time. “I see. Thank you for your guidance, Professor. I will take my leave now.”

He moves to rise, but you object. “Stay.” He hesitates, then relents.

“Is there more, Professor?”

The words that come to mind almost feel like too much, but come easily, and so must be correct. “Edelgard’s nature does not prevent you from achieving your own greatness. You are an exceptional student, and the principals you hold nobility to are just and good.” You gesture easily to the tea cup. “I appreciate your fervor.”

The noble seems to chew on those words. “Thank you, Professor. I believe I will act on those words now, and speak with Bernadetta.”

You nod. “And thank you, Ferdinand, for the lovely tea.”

He gives a small bow after standing, and leaves.

You reach for a scone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, a hunting trip with Petra.


	2. Petra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to say that my warning tags are not without reason. No gore, but this chapter certainly earns its graphic violence warning. It'll be pretty obvious when that's about to start, but I'll always put a note here when a chapter gets particularly violent. Most won't.

Scattered across your desk is the greatest collection of personal notes and official reports pertaining to the trending increase in bandit and insurgent activity over the past few months that you could find. Investigations conducted on the matter have a tendency to result in missing persons or no findings out of the ordinary, something you’ve taken as clear signs of a conspiracy. With direct investigation being out of the question, you’ve turned to reading through others’ reports on the matter for any clues that might’ve been left behind.

So far, the only obvious link between the two is their intent. Directly or indirectly, the stated goal is always to bring harm to nobility. Raid groups have been targeting trade routes that only select houses use for a while now, and key members of the church’s society are consistently being kidnapped mid-transit. Like in the encounter you and your students had only a few days ago, some reports even suggest the presence of an outside figure or force that incensed these people into action.

All the information you’ve gathered so far is useful, but only really in an abstract sense. Without a concrete link between the two or a tangible lead to follow, any meaningful progress would require involving others. The Archbishop has given you a great deal of authority and freedom as a Professor, but the knights are always watching, and you know better than to take her word at face value. Jeralt is trusting you to keep to yourself, but…

… Something’s changed.

It’s impossible to pinpoint what, exactly, with how much has happened recently.

From the windows, early morning light begins to peek through; shafts of lukewarm red after a long, cold night with very little sleep. Still, you’re restless, and the thought of stomaching the smell of ink and polished wood for any longer is enough to make you reconsider the few hours of sleep you might have been able to grab before your next seminar. Jacket buttoned, candles snuffed, you prepare to go out.

* * *

The docks are nearly empty, save for yourself and a single knight that can’t seem to stop yawning. A fishing pole is already sitting beside the stall, so you take it and invite yourself to the edge of the boardwalk. The line is cast far, far away, and the baitless hook sinks beneath, bob weaving over the small waves.

The sun has only just begun to take its strangle-hold over the wet cold of the night, so the wood is still damp, and the breeze is still cutting, but you don’t mind.

It’s quiet.

You breathe, and take in the smell. The horizon is painted by a gradient of purples, blues, and all the shades that amber can be. What few clouds linger in front are tinted black, sunlight creeping through their edges, making them orange and bright.

The world is still, and then you breathe again.

_…_

From behind, clothes rustle, but no foot-steps sound. A familiar voice accompanies the peace. “I heard what you were thinking yesterday.” Sothis declares.

“I think a lot of things.” You answer dryly.

She does not respond. Both of you know exactly what she’s referring to.

Her form hovers around and comes to a rest beside you. It takes her a moment to decide whether or not she’ll actually ‘sit’ on the board-walk, but eventually she does, and it almost feels like she’s actually there. A nervous look crosses her face, uncharacteristic of her outward demeanor, but no stranger to the feelings she lets slip across the way. You give her a small smile, though you’re not sure if it’s actually encouraging. It’s the least you can do for the person that saved your life.

“There is little I know--” She starts, in that peculiar voice of hers. “That _we_ know about ourselves.” Her green eyes are on you. “But what I do know is this. What we are doing here has left me… conflicted. If you want to continue working with me, I must know why it is you are so comfortable teaching these children to kill.”

You blink. It was clear before, you thought, but perhaps not. Another breath.

“Consider what many of these ‘children’ are.” A pause, to let her do so. “Many are heirs to a territory, if not an entire nation. If the nature of death and conflict elude them until a later age, then their ability to lead will suffer. What they’re experiencing now are minor traumas compared to what awaits them if they fail to understand the gravity of their decisions.” You tug at the line. “I want them to understand, on a personal level, what it is they’re fighting for every day. And, what they’re taking, too.”

“But what of the present?” Sothis asks. “Is that somehow less important?”

Your turn to think. “I suppose… I can’t answer that.”

Arms folded, her lips set to a thin line. “And why’s that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You _don’t know_?” She frowns “Shouldn’t you, of all people, know why _you_ refuse to answer _my_ question?” 

“I _mean_ I can’t answer that.” It’s unfortunate, the way your short responses have a tendency to be misinterpreted. “I don’t know which is more important. And neither do you. Right now, my job is only to make sure they’re ready for whatever comes next. Keeping them alive… that’s all that matters.”

Sothis’ expression grows concerned. “You say that like you don’t care about them.”

_“Life’s cheap.”_ Jeralt said once. _“That’s why we have to act.”_

You stare into the water. Others’ lives have never meant much to you. All of Fódlan could be burning to the ground, but if those flames were never meant to reach you, then it wouldn’t matter. These students… they’re just students. Another thing you have to be prepared to leave behind. The work you’ve done at night-- the research, the meals you’ve shared, it’s all just taking advantage of resources you won’t have forever. Nothing more.

“I don’t.” You say. _And that’s the truth._

Sothis sits with you in silence. Her eyes turn elsewhere, thoughts carefully guarded.

“Sothis?” You ask.

“Yes?”

“... Did you ever get to enjoy skies like these?”

Her eyes close, trying to remember. “I don’t know, but…” She opens them again. “I enjoy them now.” And after a long pause, she adds one more thing. “I hope your students get to enjoy them, too." 

You look over, to try and understand the emotion that’s coming from her, but Sothis is already gone.

“Me too.” You admit. And reel in the line.

* * *

The training grounds are typically the only place still filled with noise in the mornings. Less than an hour from class, knights are on the last leg of their drills and eager students are still in the middle of training.

Ferdinand and Petra are testing each other, sparring with wooden weapons. You take the time to watch, interested in their performance. Ferdinand’s maneuvering is excellent; it’s clear that he’s minding the pace and position of his opponent, and Petra is having a hard time getting closer. Her speed is immaculate, but for every step back she forces Ferdinand to take, he’s also moving to the side, or reclaiming his ground with careful jabs. Her expression, you note, is one of frustration.

You walk around until you’re in the peripheral of both, and wait to see if their behavior changes. Both of their grips tighten.

Petra makes to feint forward, sword low, ready to parry the incoming stab from Ferdinand. She succeeds, but the distance is too wide, and Ferdinand is able to adjust, bringing the haft of his lance around and catching Petra in her exposed side. She gasps, unsteadied, and Ferdinand pulls his lance back before thrusting again, hitting her square in the chest, driving forward and knocking the princess onto her back. In one swift motion, Ferdinand steps forward and brings the pointed end of his lance around and positions it over his downed classmate’s throat.

“I am lost again.” Petra says, disappointment masked.

“You _have_ lost again.” Ferdinand gently corrects, before pulling away his lance and offering a hand. “But you’re improving.” The ever humble princess accepts, and rises.

Ferdinand is no slouch, but the performance you just witnessed from Petra is at odds with her behavior in the field. Out there, you saw no such disappointment, no such concern, only an understanding of her purpose and alarmingly well-honed decision making skills. Petra’s use of the environment, even when not guided by you, was masterful. She took up heightened positions to rain arrows down by the cliff-side, and maneuvered over and around the rocks to surprise opponents. Is it the environment that’s lacking? No, maybe...

_“People and beasts are as one. Calm your heart, and do not be worried about this killing.”_

… You need more data.

“Petra.” You say suddenly. “Would you be willing to spar with me?”

At the mention of the opportunity, some of her natural optimism returns. “I would have-- I would be honored.” Ferdinand opens his mouth to speak, perhaps to thank Petra for her time, but you raise a hand. Time is short, and you can apologize for this rudeness later.

You walk over to the rack of training implements and pick out a long, wooden blade. It’s light in your grip, and you can’t help lamenting the need for dulled edges and wooden tools when sparring with your students. They’re useful for preventing injury and teaching follow-through, as well as building the correct muscles, but the speed is completely different, and it’s difficult to convey the sort of adjustments one will need to take without practical experience.

Turning back to your students, it’s clear that the request for silence has made them curious. It occurs to you that since arriving at the Monastery, you’ve only sparred seriously three times, and all of them were rather public events. Once with Edelgard, at her request, once with your father, _“To teach these knights a thing or two about hard work”_, and once with Lady Rhea herself. The latter was only meant to be a test of courtesy on your part, but to your (and Seteth’s) great surprise, she accepted immediately. The experience proved valuable, and it was an excellent reminder to never underestimate someone based on their appearance.

Petra, your opponent, is only fifteen. But you will spare her no credit.

You take a position thirty feet out, and stare her down with the eyes of an enemy. “Come.” And she does.

The Brigid warrior moves with speed, as you’re accustomed to. She closes fifteen feet in seconds, while you step forward once with force, sword held low in both hands. Ferdinand’s eyes widen, but Petra doesn’t pick up on the warning, and lets out a battle cry, attempting to catch your shoulder with a downward swing. With speed and power both, your blade rises, parrying the blow and sending her into a dramatic state of recovery. Her arms blown back, your grip adjusts to stab downwards, making a would-be fatal blow to her heart. Instead, your opponent is only knocked onto her back.

“Reckless.” You say. “Again.”

She rises.

There’s hesitation in her foot-work now. She’s thinking, which is what you want, but now she’s over-thinking. _She’s not used to this…_

You step forward, once, twice, and force her to fight in too-close quarters. Blade forward, elbow bent, you begin to raise your sword arm as if to make an over-head strike. Her reaction time is phenomenal, but as she side-steps to your exposed side and prepares to make a horizontal slice, she fails to recognize that the motion was a feint. You turn, stepping forward and out to grab at her forearm before she can gather momentum, then bring your blade around. There are plenty of openings you’ve left, but Petra fails to take advantage of any, panicking for only a second too long. The blade stops an inch from her neck.

“Better.” You say. “But too eager. Be prepared to be deceived.” She nods, a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead. You let go, and gather distance. “Again.”

She breathes. And then charges, shouting.

_The same as before… What will you do?_

Again you step forward, blade in both hands. Again, she aims for an overhead swing, and is repelled. This time, however, she takes the momentum in stride. Her form arches back quickly, hands meeting the brick and pushing off to flip backwards. Your stab meets empty air while her momentum bleeds away. She braces, crouched, then leaps forward, swiping at your exposed legs. The distance gives you just enough time to hop backwards, and while she’s still low to the ground, you take a half-step to get back into range, slashing up from below. She rolls away, but you stay on her, one step, two step, and then purposely over-extend your sword arm to crowd her out. She raises her own blade to block yours, and pushes it away, resetting the situation. You regain your footing while she stands.

Sweat rolls down the side of your head, while Petra breathes heavily. You look into her eyes and see dark intelligence, an expression that’s chasing a thousand thoughts a minute. Something strange wells within you.

_Yes, Petra! I am not a beast. I cannot be cornered. I will not panic. Think… Think! Now, what have you come up with?_

You step forward, sword raised, and prepare to--

The Monastery’s grand bell begins to ring. 

The hour has passed, and you’re late for your own class. 

Carefully, you reel in your disappointment. With a twist of the wrist, you plant the sword against the brick, both hands over the pommel, and address your students. "My apologies. I wasn’t mindful of the time.”

Petra bows slightly. “No apologizing is necessary, Professor. I have learned much today.”

“Yes.” Ferdinand agrees. “Thank you for your help earlier Petra. If you have the time, I’d like to do this again tomorrow.”

“Belay that.” You say, returning the blade. Ferdinand is beside you, but it seems Petra’s blade was of her own making. “Each of you will have partnered assignments tomorrow. I won’t be there.”

Ferdinand seems surprised. “Is there an occasion, Professor?”

“No.” You say, perhaps too quickly. “Nothing important, anyways. I’m going to see an opera with Dorothea.” You pause. “Petra, if it’s not inconvenient, I’d like to continue our lesson after class. Would you accompany me on a hunting trip tonight?”

She smiles wide. “Yes, Professor! That would be pleasing me greatly.”

You nod. “Good. Report to the gates at night-fall. There are reports of an overpopulation of predators in the forests surrounding the mock battle-grounds. Bring a bow. That will be all.” With that dismissal, you break away from your students, taking a longer route to class. Ferdinand protests at first, but you wave them off, and he relents.

Alone, you watch after the two. They’re talking freely, and there isn’t a hint of the judgement Ferdinand held dear when you first met. Petra is a studious worker, and she’s bound to pick up what she needs from her sparring with him. The sensation that welled in you earlier comes back, this time a little stronger.

You breathe, and wonder what it is.

* * *

The night is dark. A half-full moon and all its stars are hidden behind rolling sheets of black. The air is damp, and speaks volumes of the oncoming storm. In the distance, the sky cracks with light, sound carrying only seconds later. After accidentally interrupting a conversation between Edelgard and Dorothea near the dorms, you set out.

If you could have it your way, the trip would be called off. But Seteth himself assigned this detail to you, and if you canceled over ‘a little rain’, he’d almost certainly force you to complete the duty with supervision the next day. Not only would calling it off lose you good standing, but it would mean having to disappoint Dorothea, too. Something you’re not keen on.

The sound of Petra’s steps ahead are nearly indistinguishable from the wind rustling against the brush. She’s a practiced huntress, and you’re rather impressed by her movement alone. Still, for what the assignment is, she’s far too tense.

“Petra.” You call softly. She stops moving immediately. You catch up, steps loud by comparison, and place a free hand on her shoulder. “Relax. We could be out here for a while.”

“But Professor, beasts will be running if we are not quiet.”

“Perhaps.” You admit. “But I don’t believe we’re looking for beasts.” Petra tilts her head. “The reports detailed a great deal of noise and traces of destruction through the environment. If it’s an animal at all, I find it more likely to be _one_ large predator than many.”

“And if this creature did not exist?”

“Then we’ve been given a manhunt.”

Petra nods. “And people have less care than beasts.”

You retract your arm and nod. “That’s right.”

She takes the gesture and continues moving, now with a more relaxed gait. Droplets of water patter against the leaves and ground.

“Petra.” You ask. This time, her stride does not break.

“Yes, Professor?”

“What drives you?”

“What… drives me?” The confusion in her voice is obvious.

“What motivates you? What pushes you to act so intensely? To work so hard?”

“Ahh, I am seeing. That is my people.”

“As a Princess?”

“As a leader.” Pride, and something else, lay thick in her words. “Brigid is-- I am… needed, to be strong. Brigid is strong. But to carry it, I must be stronger. It is the needs of them.”

Both your and Petra’s eyes trace over the broken branches. The wind grows stronger. The feelings you can’t explain come to mind.

“That’s not… quite what I meant.”

“Huh? Is there a thing I am missing?”

“... Perhaps this is too hard to explain in a second language.” You pause, thinking again. “My desire is… to stay alive. But if that’s all there was to it, then I’d be doing something much easier than mercenary work. I could be a brigand, for example, or a farm-hand.” The topic seems to make Petra tense. “Of course, it’s different, being born into a role, but there’s always more to a life than duty. There’s still choice.” _There’s something else, beneath it all._

The ground grows damp. The dirt clumps, and clings to your boots.

Petra makes a thoughtful noise. “Then, you are suggesting that I am having a choice to not do these things.”

“Correct. You are more than a vessel for your people.”

“I see…” Petra comes to a stop, and turns. “Still, I will be working just as hard for them.”

You nod, slowly.

“Brigid may be responsibility, but it is not burden.” She plants a closed fist across her chest and smiles warmly. “Pride is what beats beneath my heart. For the ones beside me, and at home.” She tilts her head. “Do you have this thing, Professor? Something which beats beneath ‘staying alive’?”

You blink, and feel Sothis’ presence. “I…” Your eyes drift, from the child in front, to the ground behind her. Without a word, you walk past, and squat down. “Footprints.”

Boot-prints, to be precise; two pairs of different depth and shape. They’re fresh, and the rain-water inside is still shallow, so whatever made this isn’t far away either.

“We are hunting men?” Petra asks.

You turn to her, and nod grimly.

* * *

Rain pours through the canopy of trees overhead, dappling the muddy landscape in puddles and rivulets. The wind howls, chilled fingers stretching across every inch of exposed skin. The forest’s branches creak, distressed birdsong muted by all else.

“Stay low.” You whisper to Petra. Unnecessary, but words will help keep the warrior calm. Trailing the steps leads you to two men, complaining loudly about their hate for nobility, the weather, and pretty much everything else. Your lantern has long since been put out, but both of theirs are still shining brightly. One is broad, with an axe and a big bushy beard. The other looks young, a wiry swordsman in stitched up leather.

“Direction, Professor?” Petra whispers.

It requires no thought.

“Take this.” You pass the sword on your belt. “I’m going to circle around. When you see fit, fire an arrow into the leg of the small one. I’m going to handle the large one. If the small one isn’t already down, use this sword to keep them in check. We’ll need to talk to him.”

Petra nods, silent determination clear. You stare a moment, and can’t help wondering if this is what you must have looked like only a few years ago.

_“She’s the youngest.”_ Sothis thinks. 

_It’s her decision._ You send back.

Lightning cracks. 

“Break.”

She moves ahead, duck-walking through the brush. You wait for the sound of thunder to cut across the path and take cover on the other side. Neither of the men turn, so you move ahead as well.

You unsheathe the dagger hanging at your side and let the glint become a subtle cue. A few seconds later, Petra takes her shot, piercing straight through the leg of the small one. His cry is shrill, but overshadowed by the sound of his splash as he falls forward into the mud. You break past the foliage, legs scraping against the sharper wood. The big man has only just turned to his ally when you drive your shoulder straight into his back, sending him face-first into the mud. He tries to push off but you’re already on his back, wasting no time driving the dagger into the side of his neck. Once, twice, three times. The blood arcs out, his gurgling noises indistinguishable from the rain. You look over to see Petra standing above the smaller man, sword-tip held to his throat.

You flick the blood from your blade, then squat beside him.

“How many of you are there.” 

He’s trembling, and his voice comes out strangled. “I’m-I-I don’t-- I, there’s, twenty? Probably not more than that? I-I don’t know, I don’t know if the armored person went and grabbed more, or-or--”

“Stop.” The dagger dances between your fingers. “Tell me about this armored person.” _Are they the one I'm after?_

“W-Wait.” He swallows. “Why should I talk? What’s in it for me?”

You stare him down without a shred of emotion. “Your life.” He looks to Petra for reassurance.

“The Pro--” You shoot back a look. “--This person is truthful.”

His eyes stare ahead, past you, thinking about things you can’t see. It’s taking too long for him to make a decision, though, so you flip the dagger once, and let it come to a stop in your grip. Alarmed, he begins speaking again. “R-Right, okay, hey, no problem, I-I just had to… to think about them.” He swallows, making the motion look painful. “I-I only seen them once, but… They were in full-plate and- and they wore this _mask_. It had these eyes, man, like, like _death itself_. There was red, and feathers. And that's all I remember.”

You speed up the questions. 

"Did they have a name?”

“Never got one.”

“Do you work for them?”

“No.”

“Where are the rest of you?”

“We’re holed up by some wooden pikes near a forest.”

“Direction?”

“That way!” He points.

“That's all you know?”

“That's all I know!”

“... Thank you.” You plant a knee on his forearm, and raise your dagger.

“Thank you?”

The dagger comes down, driven into the side of his neck. Petra reacts fast enough to stomp on his other forearm before he can struggle free.

He gasps, and after a short while, goes quiet. Soon after, his eyes go still.

You breathe, and pull the dagger free.

“... Professor?” The murder didn’t shake her, but the lying seems to have made her uncertain. His shirt makes a good rag to wipe the blood off.

“Make no mistake, Petra. He would have done the same thing to us. These men do _not_ care for your health.” You meet her eyes, and repeat evenly. “Be prepared to be deceived.”

She nods, concerned. “How can you be so certain?” It comes across as a loaded question, but you understand the intent. _“How can you know they’ll lie?”_ You once asked the same question. Her gaze is steady, a mix of dark emotions you can’t identify. It’s not naivety that motivates the question, only the uncertainty that every killer has to face when putting down an unarmed man for the first time.

“Because,” You start. “I’m only one step away from being these people.”

At least twenty brigands, a mysterious stranger, and a highly defensible position, with only a sword, a bow, and a dagger between the two of you. You check the bodies. No identifying information or effects. You rise.

“Come on. We’re returning to the Monastery.”

For a while, there’s nothing but the rain between you and Petra. Then, she speaks.

“Professor?”

“... Yes?”

“Thank you for today.”

You stare back. For some reason, it's hard to say ‘you’re welcome’.

So you settle for a nod.

The walk back is quiet after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot about Petra I like. As the youngest on the roster, I couldn't help thinking about how Byleth must feel taking her out to do all the same things she was doing at that age. I'm admittedly guilty of using this chapter/Petra to explore Byleth here, but to make up for it, the chapter's twice as long as long as a normal one. Did a lot of things with this one I'm not sure about, but hopefully it all pays off anyways.
> 
> Next up, a trip to the opera with Dorothea. I promise that one goes a little better.


End file.
